In Hand
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: He has a ring. Not one he stole, not one he bought, but one he made himself. For her. [Lorna/Marcos future fic]


_**A/N** : Only two episodes in and I adore them like crazy. Here's a quick little one-shot. Please take a read & enjoy! Warning: it is so sappy._

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He never used to be the one that made plans. Ever since the day his parents kicked him out of the house, he has lived by impulse alone, surviving on his speed and his wits and, when able, on his power. On the streets, there was never time to plan anything, not between dodging the cops and the street gangs and hunting for food and shelter.

It was only after he met Lorna that he learned to plan for things again. Hope for things again.

And now, since she's come home from prison, all he has been doing is planning for things. For the future, for the baby, for _her_. He spent so long fighting to get her out of prison and get her home safe that everything else seems easy in comparison. Almost trite.

But then he remembers all those months without her, not knowing if she was safe or not, not knowing if their baby was safe or not, and he finds himself relishing the simple problems.

And, as it turns out, even the most seemingly simple problems can turn complicated quick.

There has never been a birth at the HQ before, and almost the moment Lorna came home, they all spun into strategizing mode. They'd actually had a handful of full-scale meetings about it. There was a lot they would need for a safe home birth, and these last few months, everyone has been chipping in trying to help.

Caitlin has been pouring over medical textbooks filched from a nearby university in order to act as as the de facto midwife. Clarice has been scoping out as many obstetrics departments as possible, in order to transport Lorna quickly and safely should things turn south at the HQ. John has been doing his best to repair one of the nearby outbuildings on their land, with the goal that it will be fully enclosed and as sterile as possible coming up to the birth.

Even the kids have pitched in. Unable to help the main scouting and foraging crews for fear of being spotted, they have instead found ways to busy themselves close to home. Lauren taught her brother a few rudimentary stitches, and now they've been experimenting with turning unclaimed bits of clothing into usable baby clothes, competing to see who can make the most. All the while, they bicker over potential names. And all throughout the building, there is the excited chatter about what mutation will manifest in their child.

At night, in their bed, it is the subject that even Marcos and Lorna speculate about most. They know the statistics: it is most likely that their child will inherit one or both of their abilities, but it is also possible (if unlikely) that their child will exhibit an entirely different ability. They go back and forth on what they expect, and what they'd prefer. They pretend to take bets to amuse each other, but in truth, all they are betting on is that their baby survives. That is all that matters.

They have only three more months of waiting left to go—and the days are going fast.

Today, he finds her in their room. He is surprised to run into her there—the room was so silent from the outside he assumed it empty—but the moment he steps inside he realizes why he didn't sense her there before he entered. She is standing by their makeshift dresser (an old bookshelf, converted into clothes storage), and she is not moving. He stops in his tracks when he sees what she's looking at, grabbing onto the doorframe with one hand to steady himself.

"Lauren and Andy ran out of extra fabric for sewing," she explains quietly when she hears him falter to a stop. "I was looking through your clothes, trying to see if you had any old t-shirts they could repurpose into baby clothes." From the doorway, he watches her throat move as she swallows. "I… I found this, in your things."

She sounds as if she doesn't quite know what it is she's talking about, and he gives her a minute, making himself stand still in the doorway to give her space. He watches from afar as she studies the ring, turning it this way and that to bring out the shine in the metal.

For some reason, he does not feel any fear upon seeing her hold what he has kept hidden from her for so long. Instead, now that the initial shock has worn off, he just feels a slow sense of settling in. He has always known that they'd eventually end up at this point: her holding the ring, him waiting for an answer. With the baby coming, he feels rather confident about what her response will be. But he does not press her, because now is not the time. After all, he hadn't even intended to ask her until months after the baby was born.

"How long have you been holding onto this?" she asks finally, still staring the ring.

There is no reason to lie, and so he tells the truth.

"Three years."

Her head jerks up, eyes wide as they take in his words. "Three _years_?"

He smiles a little, unsure if the disbelief in her voice is a good or a bad sign. "Yes, three years," he nods, stepping into the room. "I made it after—"

"You _made_ it?"

He can't help but grin now. Her exuberance always gets to him. "Yeah, I made it. Can't you tell by the shoddy craftsmanship?"

She shakes her head. "It isn't shoddy," she defends sharply. She lifts the ring higher, so she can examine it more closely. She takes a few steps towards him. "It's beautiful," she whispers.

He looks away at her praise, even as he feels pride bloom in his chest. He had so hoped she would like it. He had spent hours and hours on it, pouring all of his energy into melting, shaping, re-melting, and reshaping every last millimeter of that little ring. The months he'd spent working on the ring were most of the reason why he could harness his power so readily now, and bring the temperature up so quickly. Bending the three disparate strands of metal that ultimately created the braided pattern of the ring had been hellishly intricate work, but he is grateful now for having done it. Grateful not only for the finished product and his enhanced ability, but for what the three strands now automatically symbolize: him, her, and their baby. He thinks back and tries to remember when he designed it, tries to remember if there had been a reason behind the three strands to begin with. He can't recall. But the original purpose makes no matter now, for a better one has taken its place.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he finds himself thinking that if they have another baby, he will have to make her a new ring. The thought makes him smile, and he can feel his palms tingle at the potential challenge. This ring had been hard enough.

"It's so detailed…" She shuffles towards him, stomach-first, and he smiles as he watches. She still hasn't looked up from the ring. "I can't believe you _made_ this," she whispers in awe. "It must've taken forever… Why would you spend so much _time_ …"

She trails off, not really needing to ask. He doesn't really need to answer, either, but he does anyway.

"I made it for you. Because I love you."

She smiles faintly, her eyes finally rising to meet his. "Really? I had no idea, tell me more."

"Don't be a smartass."

"You wouldn't love me if I weren't."

He chuckles, unable to argue that point. "No, I suppose I wouldn't."

He watches in silence as she holds her left hand up in front of her, and puts the ring on. He holds his breath as she twists it into place, and only lets the breath go when she murmurs that it's a perfect fit.

He waits, watching as she holds out her left hand to admire the ring. He waits, wondering what she will say and when. He waits and waits, but she is lost in her own little world with that ring.

Finally, he clears his throat. "So is that a yes, then?"

She laughs, looking up. "I didn't realize I had to actually say it out loud. Aren't we past that?"

"It's only for the official record," he teases.

"What official record?" she laughs. And then a look passes over her face and the humor falls away. She steps towards him and takes his hand in hers. He looks down as she draws it to her, placing his hand where it rests so often now: on top of her stomach. "We have our official record right here," she whispers, and then she leans up to kiss him.

He kisses her back, keeping his one hand on her stomach, and lifting the other to cup the back of her head.

"I love you," he whispers in between kisses, rubbing his hand gently over her stomach. "I love you so much."

"Which one?" she whispers back. Her hands are in his hair, keeping his head down at her level. He can taste her breath, sweet on his tongue, when she asks, "Which one of us do you love so much?"

"Both of you," he whispers back. "Always both."

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 _ **A/N** : Thanks so much for reading! This is my first foray into _The Gifted _and Lorna/Marcos, so I would love to get feedback! :)_


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